


Not Another Fever Dream

by kafrickinboom



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bathing/Washing, Camping, Crying, Desert, Drunkenness, Explicit Language, First Kiss, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff, Future Fic, Hiking, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Bad At Titles, I'm Sorry, It's literally just Yuri and Beka but everyone else is mentioned, Kazakhstan, Love Confessions, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Otabek Altin Has Dimples, Pining, Post-Canon, Smut, There's honestly a lot of things in this fic, Truth or Dare, fight me, for like a second
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 04:24:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11119866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kafrickinboom/pseuds/kafrickinboom
Summary: Wherein Yuri and Otabek go on a camping trip, Yuri's pining hard on his straight friend for the fifth consecutive year, and a little liquid courage brings some revelations to light.





	Not Another Fever Dream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Glynna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glynna/gifts).



> So, I was given this prompt weeks ago and then I got distracted by writing other fics, but I finally got around to it! I hope I do our boys justice :)

Yuri’s not sure he’s ever been this miserable. 

He’s currently trudging up the side of a fucking  _ sand mountain _ (it’s probably just a large hill, but the burn in his legs and the way he can’t quite catch his breath suggests otherwise) with his cru- his best friend, Otabek, with a backpack that weighed a veritable metric shit ton on his back. He still isn’t quite sure why Beka had insisted they park so damn far away from their site. Hiking and gaining an appreciation for the view or some shit. He rolls his neck to work out the kinks, grimacing at the disgustingly loud cracks. He scowls as sweat drips into his eye, angrily wiping it away. He couldn’t believe he actually agreed to this damned trip. He can’t even focus on the shit around him when his eyes are actively burning. This had better start getting better  _ soon. _

Oh, did he not tell you? He’s in Kazakhstan, somewhere in the middle of the fucking Altyn Emel national park (and don’t think Yuri didn’t raise a brow at the name), hiking to some campsite where he and Beka would be spending the next three days and three nights among the flora and fauna of the  _ desert. _ He’d even agreed he’d keep his phone on power saver mode, and try to stay off of it for most of the duration. He regrets that decision as he feels the urge to tweet about his struggles. He’d also agreed to no social media until after, and he already regrets  _ that _ was well. Still, he wanted to spend time with Beka, away from all the people and the expectations and the bullshit- just him and his best friend.

Beka assures him they’d be somewhere close to some massive lake, but he’s pretty sure they’ve been on this trek for  _ hours _ now and Yuri just wants to stop and pass out for a while. It’s eighty-something degrees out and without much cloud cover and no trees around, Yuri is dying.

They crest the damn mountain/hill and Yuri whoops in relief. The lake Otabek had mentioned was in sight. Way off in the distance, but still. It’s there. He beams, looking over at Beka, watching him with an unreadable expression- par for the course with the Kazakh, really, but this feels different. Beka’s eyes bore into Yuri’s for a second before dipping, and suddenly Beka’s cursing a loud spill of Kazakh, turning Yuri to rummage in his backpack. 

Yuri furrows his brows, confused until he looks down at his arms. He hadn’t thought to keep up with the sunscreen. He didn’t usually need it back in Russia. Living in St. Petersburg, the sheer amount of cloud coverage and the necessity for a light jacket through most of the year usually protected his porcelain skin from damage. Now he looks more akin to a fucking lobster. He throws his own spill of Russian cursing. He’s most definitely going to feel this later. 

As soon as Beka’s found the sunscreen, he makes quick work of slathering it over every visible bit of skin he can see, ending with Yuri’s face. He’s more gentle here, brushing the flyaway pieces of long, blonde hair away before tracing his fingers over his forehead, his nose, over his cheeks, his neck, that strip of skin between his nose and his upper lip. Yuri can’t help but notice Beka’s pause before pulling away, or the way his gaze catches on Yuri’s lips a moment before tearing them away. Probably just concerned for his crimson skin and dry lips. Beka rubs the excess cream into his skin before pulling out the SPF 30 chapstick, uncapping it.

Yuri’s eyes fly wide as Beka’s fingers gently hold his chin like he was something that necessitates being handled carefully, dragging the balm over his lips. Beka’s jaw is clenched and his face is determined, but the pursed lips and the reddened high points of his cheeks signify that this wasn’t planned. He probably acted without even thinking. Ever the gentleman. He swallows as he finishes, pocketing the chapstick and turning, making for the lake. 

Yuri’s mind is the equivalent to a fucking keyboard smash, freezing him in place as he watches Beka just fucking leave him on top of the hill. He rushes to follow, thinking about this weird tension between them.

Yuri can honestly say he’s been smitten with Beka ever since the older man told him he had the countenance of a soldier. Otabek was the first person to see him, not as a kitten or a fairy or as something untouchable, or  _ worse, _ someone who needed to be coddled. He was the first person to see through the angry, uncaring front Yuri put up. He was the first person that Yuri could call a genuine friend, and he was the first person Yuri fell for. 

He fell in love between breaths one day when Beka visited him in St. Petersburg the summer after he won the Grand Prix Final the first time. One second they were talking about the similarities and differences in their religious beliefs, a deep topic for an early Sunday morning side-by-side on Yuri’s beat-up couch in oversized sweaters and ratty, old sleep pants, and the next, the light filtered through the window just right, catching on Beka’s face. Yuri’s voice had caught in his throat as the light highlighted the fact that Beka’s irises weren’t just a flat dark brown, but rather a deep viridescent hue in the sunlight. He noted the way the shadows under Beka’s cheekbones drew attention to how sharp they are, and how the light played over his hair, casting a reddish glow to it. He remembered being close enough to notice the faintest of freckles sparsely peppered over Beka’s strong nose. All of these little things Yuri had never stopped to consider until that comfortable morning, added to the realization that they really could talk about literally  _ anything _ without fear of judgment, was the tipping point between ‘smitten’ and ‘in love.’

He fell for the steady, stoic calm Beka exuded without effort. He fell for the grounding quality Beka held when Yuri felt like he was  _ this _ close to flying off the handle. He fell for the blunt honesty. He fell for the surprisingly dry, sarcastic humor, and the hours-long conversations about literally everything, and the way Beka’s eyes lit up with each tiny smile. He fell for the dimples that only showed up in his rarest of smiles. He fell for the intellectual discussions and the ease he felt having them with the older man. He fell for the passionate musician who gave as much to his DJing as he did to his skating. He fell for this beautiful, unfortunately heterosexual man who only saw him as a dear friend.

That was five years ago. Five years of friendship. Five years of growing, figuratively  _ and _ literally. Five years of feeling like his heart’s too big for his body whenever Beka’s around. Five years of unrequited love.

He  _ still _ frequently finds himself thinking about what Beka would do if he bit the bullet and just laid it all out there- just told him what he was feeling. Would Beka be disgusted? Probably, considering his dating experience consisted solely of women. Regardless, Yuri wonders what Beka’s lips would feel like against his own, and whether Beka would maybe pull him closer or shove him away. He often thought about running his fingers through Beka’s thick locks, and fucking him senseless, and what it would feel like to have those big, muscled arms wrapped around him, and being allowed to just hold his hand. 

Yuri could never find the courage to actually say something though. He still can’t. He’s too terrified of the potential rejection and ruining everything they have. He  _ can’t _ go back to having no one he feels he can trust with everything. Okay, so that probably wouldn’t happen. He knows Beka would try his best not to let something like that ruin their friendship, but Yuri’s heart isn’t as hard as he likes to pretend is. He’d be bruised and broken, and he’s genuinely not certain that he could handle being friends with someone who  _ knows _ the depth of his feelings and just can’t return them. 

He knows that regardless of whether he says something or not, Beka will someday retire from skating, marry a beautiful girl, have a couple of kids and have the quintessential dream life that Yuri finds  _ he _ wants with  _ Beka. _ He knows that he’ll have to watch it all play out, and he knows that no matter what, it’s going to gradually compress his heart until it pops. He figures it’ll hurt way less if Beka’s blissfully unaware- like he can’t commit a crime if he doesn’t understand what he’s doing (which is stupid, Yuri knows. Beka’s doing absolutely nothing wrong by not having feelings for him. It just fucking hurts). And anyway, he thinks he’s starting to get used to the torture.

So, he just sits back and suffers from a longing heart in silence.

He walks behind Otabek, watching the shifting of those strong muscles under his shirt that doesn’t hint at his strength so much as shines a fucking spotlight on it. Yuri swallows and smothers the urge to reach out and run his fingers down those lines. He clenches his eyes against the idea, shaking his head to clear it, beyond ready to get to that damn campsite.

They walk in a vaguely uncomfortable silence for the next millennia or so that it takes to get there, both deep in their own contemplations. Yuri almost sobs in relief when Beka stops, dropping the massive backpack on the ground beside him. The lake has got to be about five minutes walking distance from them, and the cooler wind coming off it is  _ glorious. _

Yuri immediately throws his pack on the ground and sets up his tiny, old, beat-up tent he borrowed from his Dedushka. Beka had packed his four-person tent for some reason, a big fucker that could easily fit both him  _ and _ Yuri in it, but he actively cut that line of thought short. He’d brought a tiny  _ single-person _ tent for himself in an attempt to minimize the weight they’d have to haul through the damn desert. Apparently Beka was fine with the extra burden. Now, as he nails the tent into the ground, he thinks he maybe should have just accepted  Beka's  offer to share with him.

He just figured that since he’ll be spending the weekend with Beka, sleeping only feet away from him, that it would be too much for him to handle. Yuri’s already equally ready and very much not for this whole experience. He wants to be closer to Beka, but having him literally  _ and _ figuratively out of Yuri’s reach is going to be torture, and rooming with Beka the same tent would only serve to drive him insane. 

He sighs as he finishes assembling his tent, groaning in relief as he collapses to the floor of it, falling asleep within minutes.

\---

The next thing Yuri knows, it’s dark out. He blinks blearily to try and figure out if it’s the same day or the next morning. He checks his phone to make sure. Same day. Cringing at the feel of his sweaty clothes clinging at his skin, he quickly changes into his leggings and a clean shirt.

He shuffles out into the crisp night air and almost moans at how fucking good the cool air on his sunburned skin feels. A gentle hand lands on his back and he jumps as he whirls around with a  _ manly _ squeak. The amused twitching of Beka's full lips makes him want to kiss and punch the man in turn. 

“Are you hungry, Yura?” Beka’s voice is a bit shaky around the edges, like he’s actively trying not to laugh, and Yuri wants to punch him in the mouth with his mouth. He settles for rolling his eyes instead.

“Starving, actually. What’ve we got?”

“I figured we’d eat the meat first considering how much the cooler thawed on the hike here, so…kebabs. And chips.” Beka shrugs, and how Yuri didn’t notice the smell wafting from the tiny, jury-rigged campfire, he doesn’t know. His mouth waters as he stumbles over to sit on some massive rock that he was positive wasn’t there before. He raises a brow at Beka, noticing how fucking  _ amazing _ he looks in the campfire light.

He wants to punch  _ himself _ in the face for being such a sappy shit, but  _ wow. _ The flames cast an amber glow on Beka's ochre skin, dancing over his dark eyes and softening the sharper angles of Beka’s handsome mug. Yuri swallows as he tears his gaze back to the flames, ignoring the way it hurts to stare at too long. Staring at Beka too long hurts worse. He quickly sits down on the stone when Beka offers him food.

He tears into it the lamb, moaning as it melts on his tongue.  _ Fuck, _ he swears Beka’s just good at literally everything. Great skater, fantastic cook, phenomenal friend. He’s a loving, caring son and brother. Sit him in front of a turntable, and he can absolutely blow you away with the music he creates. He’s shockingly good at too many things - from painting to being a perfect gentleman to hiking to fucking  _ falconry _ (yeah, that one came as a surprise to Yuri too). His mind floats to these little things, wondering what else he’ll learn about what Beka’s good at in the years of friendship to come when he catches Beka’s look in his periphery. 

Beka’s standing off to the side, the way he holds himself screams of control and being measured and it confuses Yuri for a moment before he shakes it off. What really gets to him is the way Beka’s got his kebab frozen inches away from his mouth, his wide eyes staring at Yuri like he’s been shocked. Yuri’s brows dip, confused as he looks behind him as if looking for an answer to what the hell is up with his friend. When he turns back, Beka is back to normal, shoving his blushing face full of lamb. Yuri raises a brow at him, but shrugs that off too. He wasn’t sure Beka had had any sleep, so maybe the exhaustion is finally hitting him.

There’s a silence as they eat, both trapped in the webs of their own thoughts. Yuri’s had just enough sleep to still be tired, but awake enough to notice how  _ beautiful _ it is out here. It’s completely clear- no hazy smog or light pollution acting as a film between the earth and the endless sky, just a massive black dome dotted with the most vibrant stars Yuri’s ever seen.

He drops his wooden skewer into the fire and walks to the open ground just beyond the halo of light. He stands there, head tilted back, and just  _ marvels _ at how small he really is. Yuri’s not usually one for thinking like this. He’s more of a present thinker- more apt to focus on what he can tangibly feel and hear and do and say than thinking more abstractly. He’s usually too preoccupied by how the physical world around him makes him feel to think about how truly insignificant he is in the grand scheme of eternity. He’s not sure he likes it.

He startles (again, goddamn it) when Beka sneaks up beside him, content to look up at the stars with him for a moment before spreading out the blanket Yuri hadn’t noticed he’d brought over. He watches as Beka lies down on it, his head resting against the cushion created by his overlapping hands. The space to the right of him is left empty, so Yuri takes that as an invitation to join him, Yuri matching the older man’s position. Beka has to scoot down a bit so that their elbows don’t overlap uncomfortably, fitting his arm into the space just beneath Yuri’s and it makes Yuri want to adjust just so their skin can connect, even at one tiny point. There’s no noise save for their slow, steady breathing and the faint crackling and popping of the fire behind them. It’s magnificent.

“I feel so small,” Yuri says, breaking the calm silence, his voice barely above a murmur. 

“Me too,” Beka hums in agreement, his voice rich and dark and warm and it makes Yuri want to curl into it and live there forever. Yuri licks his suddenly dry lips as he continues watching the sky, jumping when shuffling sounds somewhere beyond their feet.

“B-Beka,” Yuri whispers, a thread of panic making its way into it regardless of his efforts to remain calm. Beka hums in question, turning to look up at him and it’s almost enough to distract him from the fear creeping up on him. “Are there- What kind of wildlife are around here?”

Beka’s lips purse as he slowly sits up. “I know there are manuls and lynxes out here, both of which come out at night, but I don’t think they’d come this close to a fire?” He says, but Yuri can hear the uncertainty and that’s enough for him to sit up quickly, eyes dancing around the area as if he too could see a nocturnal creature staring at him. His eyes are round and his breathing is labored and he can feel his muscles tense, and suddenly he’s being pulled to Beka’s side.

“Breathe, Yura. They don’t hunt for prey bigger than themselves anyway. It’d be a waste of meat,” he chuckles and the return of Beka’s confidence immediately makes Yuri relax. He throws caution to the wind, resting his head on Beka’s shoulder, which tenses for maybe half a second before loosening. Someone so tightly muscled probably shouldn’t feel so damn comfortable, but maybe the sheer mass of Beka’s body makes him more pillowy or something, because Yuri feels like he’s laying on a cloud. A hard, muscly cloud, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever want to get off of it. Maybe get off  _ on _ it, but- No. He needs to cut that line of thinking off now before he makes things  _ really _ awkward between him and the only  _ real _ friend he has.

He luxuriates in the freedom to just sit there with his friend for a moment before Beka yawns, big and loud and deeply tired, triggering a smaller, still deeply tired yawn from Yuri as well. Eventually, as Yuri’s head begins to lull against Beka’s shoulder, he decides he’s gonna have to drag his ass back to his tent or he’s going to just crash right there, and regardless of what Beka says, and as much as he  _ loves _ felines of all shapes and sizes, he’s not trying to risk becoming big cat food. 

He sluggishly pulls himself up, avoiding Beka’s eyes as he reaches a hand out so he can do the same. The same electric shock he’s felt from almost the very beginning runs through him when Beka’s strong hand wraps around his. He’s had dreams about those hands alone- how they’d feel running along his body, or carding into his hair, or grabbing his ass, or holding the hinges of his jaw as they kiss, or just being held in his own. He’s made peace (kind of) with the fact that Beka’s straight, but moments like these? It makes it so much more difficult to just let go. 

He sighs wistfully as he walks away, Beka following him with a concerned expression that he misses. He helps Beka smother the campfire, and wishes he could smother his own one-sided feelings just as easily. He’s about to crawl into his tent for another eight solid hours or so of sleep when Beka stops him with one of those fucking hands at the crook of his elbow.

“Is everything okay? You suddenly seem a little...sad?” And  _ fuck, _ the  _ only _ thing he hates about Beka (okay, he could never  _ hate _ anything about his best friend, but...still) is how intuitive he can be. There’s been more than one occasion where Yuri couldn’t parse out what the hell his feelings were or why he felt them, and one conversation with Beka made everything clear. Beka could take one look at him and just  _ know _ when something was wrong. It was really fucking annoying when he just wanted to hide all of his melancholy away from his keen eyes. Regardless of how Yuri’s feeling, Beka doesn't deserve to have that put on him, and trying to find excuses was becoming harder and harder as time went on.

“I’m fine. I’m just tired, is all.” While he  _ is _ tired, that isn’t what was wrong. He knows it and Beka knows it. Still, his friend releases him and, in the full moon light, Yuri could see Beka’s look that bordered on resignation. He swallows around the guilt that swells in his throat as he wishes Beka a quiet ‘goodnight’ and crumples into his tent. 

God _ damn _ it. Night one of their three-night trip and he’s making it awkward and heavy because of his inability to keep his feelings choked down. He vows to make tomorrow a better day as he dozes off to dream about big, strong hands on his body and dark eyes that set a fire in him.

\---

Waking up hard and dripping with a loud gasp would be perfectly fine-  _ fantastic _ even- if Yuri was at home, in his own bed. Being in the middle of the desert with his crush literally less than five feet away with no sounds to drown out whatever possible sounds he was making in his sleep? Emphatically  _ not _ fantastic. 

He slaps a hand over his mouth and slips the other into his pants, intent on taking care of it before starting the day. Maybe it’d help him fucking relax around Beka. Using his own wetness to smooth the way, he stifles a moan as best as he can. He’s already really fucking close. He thinks back to the dream that brought him to this state, and almost groans at the images his mind produces.

In his mind, he can see Beka lain out before him (he pauses for a moment to suppress the guilt trying to bubble up his throat at using his friend for his own jerk off fantasies), completely devoid of even a scrap of clothing. Yuri was between Beka’s spread legs, and he was panting and flushed as he pushed his cock inside the older man. The dream felt so fucking real, and his curses his mind for giving him such vivid details, like the ghost of tight, wet heat squeezing around him, like Beka’s face, red and sweating with the exertion of holding back, like the way the hard earned muscles of his abs contracted when he came over his stomach and chest, like the way Beka’s voice sounded, broken and tripping over Yuri’s name. 

Toes curling, Yuri twists his grip on an upstroke and comes in his pants like a teenager. He pants through it, biting his shirt to keep most of his broken sounds muted, but the whimpers that manage to escape sound like screams in the quiet of the Kazakhstan morning. He closes his eyes, lazily wiping his hands on the inside of his leggings, hoping to hell that Beka was still asleep for all of that. 

He cringes at the cooling come growing tacky in his pants, quickly taking them off and wiping himself as clean as best he can. He belatedly remembers that Beka’s the one with the wipes in his pack. He figures he’ll just have to bathe in the lake, and the prospect of washing the day-old dried sweat and the remnants of come from his body has him feeling more ready for the day in an instant.

He throws on his favorite pair of cheetah print leggings, stepping out into the warm, Kazakh morning heat, wincing against the bright sun. Apparently, this desert doesn’t really get all that cool at night in the early summer months- at least not to Yuri, a Russian who lives in St. Petersburg, Russia, a city that sits right along the northern border. It doesn’t usually ever get higher than maybe mid-70s even in the middle of summer, and this Kazakh weather feels just like the hottest of days. He sighs comfortably, enjoying the breeze as he opens his eyes-

And jumps.  _ Again. _ He shouts as Beka just smiles back at him with those cute, little crinkles by his eyes, usually hidden dimples on display, not even a full three feet away. How such a broad man can move so quietly, the world may never know. Yuri scowls, wondering how long Beka’s been out here, how long he’s been up-  _ oh god, _ did he hear Yuri get off? Yuri flushes furiously and he pretends it’s due to annoyance.

“What the hell, Beka?” He hisses, but the corners of his lips are already turning up (the traitors) as he observes his friend in the brilliant purple-pink light of the sunrise. Does Beka look good in every light cast on him? Jesus fuck. (The answer is yes.)

“Good morning,” Beka greets him nonchalantly-  _ too _ nonchalantly- and Yuri’s blush deepens. His skin’s probably comparable to a damn pomegranate at this point, and he fights to bring it back to a more acceptable pink. Beka just smiles this funny, little smile as he offers Yuri two of their granola bars. 

He accepts them with an anxious grin, grateful for having something to do with his hands, and also because he didn’t realize how hungry he was until he bit into his food. He pulls the backpack out of his tent to offer Beka a bottle of water. They eat leisurely, enjoying the sunrise over the beautiful mountain scenery Yuri hadn’t thought to appreciate when he was actively dying on the way to the campsite. It really is amazing. The sand gives way to huge, sedimentary mountains, ribbons of red-orange and sand-beige stone raised from the ground, rounded from erosion. There are patchy desert flora amongst the sand and in the distance, a band of wild horses amble in the direction of the lake. Yuri is breathless by the sights. He gets it now, why Beka wanted to come out here. There's a serenity to the desert that Yuri hasn't contemplated before now, and while he almost died on his way here, and his crush is unrequited, and said unrequited crush probably (embarrassingly) heard him come, he's really glad he came. He wouldn't trade this beautiful (mortifying) morning with Beka for the world.

\--- 

In his contemplation, he misses the way Beka seems unaffected by the views around them, uncaring of the beautiful mountains and the horses in the distance. Yuri's awe may be due to the beauty around him, but Beka could only see how beautiful Yuri looked in the brilliant Kazakh sunrise. 

\---

Thank  _ fuck _ for this lake. 

As much as Yuri had wiped himself down, he couldn't get all of his come out of the hair circling his cock, so squirming next to Beka due to discomfort was, well,  _ uncomfortable. _ They'd both agreed they needed a bath, so they rounded up their travel towels and soap (don’t worry- it’s that all-natural organic vegan shit- they both adamantly refused to pollute the water with chemicals) and headed down to the water.

_ Shit, _ was it cold. Even if it didn't dip below maybe sixty-five degrees overnight, the water had cooled rather well, and when Yuri haphazardly takes off his clothes and charges into the water, he shouts at the sudden chill. Still, he's not fucking stopping until he's at  _ least _ chest deep. Beka has already probably gotten a good eyeful of his pasty ass. After the morning he’s had, Yuri refuses to prolong that embarrassment. He shivers as the breath whooshes out of him. He stands there, immobile, slowly relaxing individual groups of muscles as he gets used to the temperature. He sighs once, pulling his tresses out of the absolute wreck of a bun he'd messily thrown it in last night, letting the strands fall down his back as he wades in deeper. 

He chances a look over his shoulder, staring at the shock written in the lines of Beka’s expression. Their eyes connect and a zing shoots through Yuri when Beka doesn’t immediately look away. No, what Beka- that bastard- does is pull his own clothes off more slowly, more deliberately than Yuri had while maintaining eye contact. Yuri’s wide eyes are suddenly accompanied by dropped open lips, and he can’t seem to make his brain work until Beka’s hooking his thumbs into his underwear. 

Yuri tears his eyes away at that, blushing furiously and he has to take the plunge (part two) to cool off the burning spreading from his face down to chest and up to the tips of his ears. When he resurfaces, gasping and shuddering, Beka’s only a few feet away and his face is completely unreadable. He almost drops his soap when Beka sidles closer to him. Yuri doesn’t know whether he wants to know what the older man is thinking or not. 

“You look a little cold, Yura.” Beka remarks with an amused arch to his brow. Yuri sticks his tongue out at him before washing himself. 

He turns around to giving himself some false sense of privacy, running the soap through his locks. He makes quick work of cleaning everything he can reach, trying to remain as subtle as possible as he scrubs at his cock. Just as he’s reaching back to try and wash his back, gentle fingers tap him. He hesitates a moment before turning around, swallowing at Beka’s proximity.

With a bitten lip, Beka looks up at him with an uncertain expression. “Can I- I mean, do you want me to wash your back?”

Yuri raises his brows at that. Hell  _ yeah, _ he’s gonna cash in on this offer. He jerks his head in something like a nod before handing the soap to Beka, ignoring that ever-present jolt running through him.

He tries to keep his cool as Beka pulls his hair off to the side and over his shoulder. He doesn’t think he manages to contain the shiver when Beka’s hands lather his back. He swallows the words he wants to sputter out down to the bone, closing his eyes as each sweep over his rigid muscles linger just a bit over the constellation of moles dotting his spine. It really shouldn’t take this long to clean his back, and it really shouldn’t turn him on this much that his best friend’s hands are on his skin. He bites his lip as Beka’s fingers dip low, just a touch into the water and hair’s breadth away from his ass, and Yuri’s hardening. 

He tries desperately to think of literally anything that can make his cock flag. He thinks of Viktor and Yuuri’s disgusting relationship.  _ That _ doesn’t help. He thinks of Lilia and Yakov and Mila and Georgi. He thinks of them all naked and  _ yup. _ There goes the erection. Thank fuck for that because he’s not prepared to explain to Beka why he’s getting so worked up over something so simple as a friendly back-washing. 

When Beka softly tells him he’s done, Yuri dips all the way back into the water again, rinsing himself completely. When he comes back up, Beka’s standing with his back to Yuri, holding the soap over his shoulder, a question for reciprocation. Yuri swallows thickly as he accepts it. He’s not confident that he’s ready for this, but denying Beka would make things weird between them. 

Setting his hands on Beka’s perfect skin is borderline rapturous. Yuri subtly (not so subtly) checks out the the lines and dips and curves of Beka’s back. He wonders how strong Beka really is. How much he can lift and how long he could hold it. Yuri digs his fingers in a bit, allows himself to enjoy being able to touch the man he loves like this, when Beka groans. Yuri freezes for a moment before doing it again. When Beka groans again, pushing himself back into Yuri’s hands, his mouth goes dry in an instant. He bites his lip as he works his fingers up and out, effectively massaging Beka, and the grunts and groans are enough to make Yuri need to tilt his hips away again. Goddamn it. He wraps it up quickly after that, throwing the soap to the shore and slinking further away as Beka rinses himself off. 

Beka smirks, following Yuri deeper into the water, a playful glint in his eye. Yuri glares back, helpless against the smirk spreading on his face as he swims away. He only makes it so far before Beka catches up to him. A wave of water hits him square in the face, leaving him sputtering while Beka laughs. He retaliates immediately, and the fight is on. They slosh around in the water, laughing openly and freely without a care in the world. Yuri thankfully softens as he lets himself forget for a moment that Beka doesn’t want him back, and he lets himself enjoy the moment without being a broody mess.

Once they’re panting and tired and they’ve settled down, they wade back to the shore, smiling and Yuri can say he’s genuinely happy for a moment. 

As they reach for their towels, a huge gust of wind blows them out of reach, almost knocking Yuri and Beka themselves over with its force. They scramble to regain their footing and catch them, their faces aflame as they wrap themselves up. Fucking desert winds. They walk back, chatting about nothing in particular, just enjoying each other's company. 

Yuri stops dead in his tracks when they reach the campsite. His tent is nowhere to be fucking found. Beka’s is still securely rooted, but the points in the ground where Yuri had nailed the stakes in his are a wreck where they’ve obviously been ripped out. The only possible culprit being the wind. That  _ fucking _ desert wind.

He pauses for a moment to slip on some pants, and storms off in hopes of finding it before it gets too far. He’s well aware of how hopeless it probably is. That tent weighed maybe four pounds, and if that gust could almost knock him and  _ Beka _ over, his Dedushka’s tent is a fucking goner. Nevertheless, he has to  _ try. _ Not only because he’s not sure he’s ready to room with Beka, but because littering isn’t fucking cool. If he can’t find it, he’ll have to call the parks services to find it and dispose of it before the wildlife do. He searches until his stomach rumbles, and when he checks his phone, 25 minutes have passed. He sighs in resignation, making his way back.

Beka pops up from where he’s seated when he sees Yuri. He clears his throat with a small, nervous smile. “At least my tent’s big enough for the two of us?”

Yuri purses his lips, nodding, his own smile frail. At least there was that, he guesses. At least he’ll get to enjoy the next two nights even  _ closer _ to Beka, and feeling like there’s oceans between them, and without the privacy of his own tent if (or more likely,  _ when) _ he wakes up like he did this morning. This is going to be hell. He’s already imagining sleepless nights filled with just staring at Beka. Yeah, he’s aware of how fucking creepy that sounds, but he’s not sure he can help it. A sleeping Beka is so beautiful (as if he’s ever  _ not). _ So sweet. So vulnerable. Yuri’s not convinced he’s going to survive this trip with his dignity, and his heart, intact.

They get dressed, backs turned toward one another. If Yuri snuck a glance or two from his periphery, well...that just couldn’t be helped either. 

“I’m glad your burn isn’t as bad as it looked yesterday.” Beka says once they were done, running the backs of his fingers over Yuri’s sensitive skin. Yuri tries his level best to suppress a shiver, but he’s positive he fails given the way Beka’s brows dip. 

He looks down and hell  _ yeah,  _ his skin isn't doing too shabby. Still burnt, but more of a salmon color than the frightening shade of crimson it was yesterday. It must have just been the exertion and heat that got to him. Whatever. He’s happy his range of motion isn’t limited by excruciating pain. 

He calls the parks services to report the flyaway tent, slaps on a full-body coat of sunscreen, scarfs down a peanut butter and honey sandwich, and chugs an entire bottle of water. Beka grabs his climbing equipment out of his pack, and he and Yuri head toward that cool looking mountain that caught Yuri’s attention earlier in the soft morning light.

\---

This was a mistake. This was a  _ big _ mistake. 

Yuri is in  _ fantastic _ shape. He’s used to hours-long practice and his endurance, while not good as the pig’s even after all this time, is still rather impressive. He’s toned and for a slender guy who’d reached the height of 6’3, he looks pretty fucking good. He can run for long distances, and his cardio routines are  _ killer, _ and he can throw himself into the most complicated of skating moves with little effort.

Still, this hike up the mountain included rock climbing and lifting himself up, up, up onto a damn mountain, and his thighs and arms burn with the effort. As soon as he hits the plateaued crest of the mountain, he collapses onto his back, just shy of wheezing. Maybe he should have listened to Beka when he suggested building some muscle. It’d stung a little when his friend had suggested it, like his body just wasn’t good enough or something, but now he  _ gets it. _ His arms are trembling and they vaguely resemble cooked spaghetti noodles. Maybe once he gets back to Russia, he’ll include weight lifting in his exercise regimen.

Beka, on the other hand, is panting, but not on the precipice of death like Yuri is (again). His cut off shirt leaves his sides bare, the cut of his muscles contracting as he breathes. There’s a sheen of sweat over his body, and he lifts the bottom of his shirt to wipe it from his face. The sunlight reflecting off of him makes him look like a god, and Yuri really is going to die, holy shit. From the exertion of the climb  _ and _ the exertion of keeping his shaky hands to himself. Beka stands akimbo, unaware of Yuri’s lingering eyes as he takes in the panorama. You can see for  _ miles _ up here, and while Yuri knows it’s going to be beautiful, he’s going to need a few more minutes before he can stand up to enjoy it.

Beka stands at his feet, smiling amusedly down at him before laying down beside him. Yuri snorts when Beka asks him if he’s okay, and jolts when Beka casually lays his hand on Yuri’s. 

He’s touched Beka before. Simple things like a comforting hand on his arm, or a high five, or a few memorable moments when the conversation got heavy, and Yuri didn’t know what to do other than giving his friend an awkward, too rough hug. (He doesn’t regret it.) This is the first time they’ve held hands. He’s imagined what it would be like for  _ years _ now, ever since he was sixteen and he fell for his stupidly handsome best friend. Now, Beka’s initiating it, and Yuri feels like he could fly.

Yuri’s eyes snap to Beka, who’s studying the sky like it’s engrossing.

“Beka?” He asks in a small, soft voice, and when Beka finally turns to him, his gaze is warm and he looks so fucking shy and sweet and  _ happy, _ and Yuri doesn’t know what to do with it. Yuri licks his lips and notices the eyes that trail after it. His heart is a galloping tempo and his eyes are as wide as saucers, and he knows all of the feelings he’s been trying to hide must be written all over his face, but he can’t find the wherewithal to stop in his shock.

“This is nice,” is all Beka says, turning back to the sky with closed eyes, contented and peaceful in a way that Yuri is  _ not. _ He’s more comparable to a maelstrom, confused and all over the place with his emotions, and he wants answers. Despite that, he can’t make his mouth form the words, too afraid to ruin the moment. 

So, he revels in the contact. He hesitantly curls his own fingers around Beka’s, cataloguing every detail of his hand. Yuri closes his own eyes and wills himself to calm down. It’s just holding hands. It doesn’t mean anything. Friends hold each other's hands all the time. This is just a nice, platonic hand holding and Yuri’s going to have to get his heart on the same page as that fact because it just wants to take this moment and run with it. It wants to take him on a virtual tour of what his and Beka’s life could be like, and Yuri’s never going to have that, so it needs to fucking  _ stop. _

He doesn’t know how long they lay there, mostly silent but interspersed with conversations about the world and space and aliens and feeling small and how they’re  _ really _ glad they followed through with this plan, but when they finally do sit up, the sun is just touching the horizon. He does the math in his head and that’s roughly seven  _ hours _ they’ve spent just laying here talking, and Beka’s hand never left his once. 

Yuri sits up with a groan, taking in the view before it’s cloaked in the dark. It’s just as beautiful as the sunrise. Perhaps more because Beka’s always looked even better in warmer light. Yuri stands up and stretches out all of his sore muscles. He feels only a thin thread of regret for not standing up sooner. He fishes his phone out to take a few pictures- of the sunset, of himself, of Beka, of them together- before putting it back.

Beka has to help Yuri down the mountain, and if his fingers linger over Yuri’s body, Yuri doesn’t notice.

\---

The walk back felt more like ‘normal’- less tense, more talking about their personal lives and their families and what they’ve got planned for the next upcoming skating cycle. Yuri feels warm each time his arm grazes Beka’s, and it’s comfortable. That is, until they get back to their campsite. Yuri has to actively stifle a groan. He’d forgotten for a while that his tent is gone. He curses himself not for the first time for taking his backpack out of the tent and not thinking to put it  _ back. _ A simple weight would have prevented what’s sure to be an awkward night.

They eat their campfire quesadillas, and Yuri pulls out the vodka he’d brought just in case the mood struck him. Well, the mood is striking him now, damn it. He needs a drink if he’s expected to sleep close enough for him to feel Beka’s body heat against him. He’s equally excited for it and dreading it. So, he’s drinking.

Beka raises a brow at him, but doesn’t say anything as he accepts the bottle, taking a decent swig. He winces at the taste, and Yuri bursts out laughing, earning him a glare which only serves to make him laugh harder. He’d brought the good shit. Yuri takes a drink, and he knows the burn on the way down will soon feel like a cleansing by fire. 

Soon, after a few shots, he’s feeling pretty fucking good. Like, really good. His inebriated self is much more relaxed, much looser than his sober self, more content to shoot the shit with Beka, laughing at the way the Kazakh slurs through his words just a bit, stumbling over shitty Russian when he tries, but Yuri’s warmed by the effort anyway. He loves just being around Beka, and with this little burst of liquid courage, he figures now would be as good a time as any to play a quick round or two of Truth or Dare before they go to bed. Beka huffs a laugh at the suggestion, but acquiesces easily.

“Alright, Beka. Truth or dare?” He slurs out with a mischievous smile.

“Truth,” Beka responds, and drunk!Yuri mentally cheers. He’s determined to get at least  _ some _ answers, and his intoxicated self is more courageous than sober him anyway. He’s not wasting any time.

“Have you ever been with a, with a guy?” He stammers and blames his flushed face on the alcohol.

“Mmm...not yet. I have thought about it though,” Beka shrugs loosely with a silly smile on his as he looks at Yuri with a curious glint in his eye. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare.” Yuri chokes out instantly. That relaxed, little ‘not yet’ echoes in his mind, and even in his altered state, he’s not trying to overshare with his filter as shot as it is.

“Hmm…” Beka looks at Yuri consideringly, a heat sliding into his eyes, searing into Yuri’s, and Yuri feels it in his bones. And his cheeks. And also maybe specifically his groin. Shut up. Beka mumbles out his dare, and Yuri can’t for the life of him make it out. He does, however, make out the deep flush staining Beka’s cheeks, and Yuri wants to  _ bite it. _

_ “What?” _

“I said I dare you to kiss me.” Beka exclaims, and suddenly time fucking  _ stops. _

Yuri shakes his head to clear it because- did he hear that right? Beka must mistake the action for a straight up ‘no,’ and begins to assure Yuri that he doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to. That Beka can just come up with another dare, or Yuri can change his mind to ‘truth.’ It’s fine. He understands. Beka stammers over his words, the flush veering into something that would concern Yuri if he didn’t know his friend was just mortified. 

He cuts off Beka’s stuttering rigmarole when he stands up, weaving confidently up to his friend who’s frozen in place. He stops in front of Beka, looking down at him with the sweetest smiles he’s probably ever given  _ anyone. _ He figures he doesn’t have the coordination to manage straddling Beka’s lap without faceplanting, so instead he settles for kneeling between Beka’s casually spread legs. Yuri’s so tall that he’s still just a touch taller than Beka like this, and Beka’s face tilts up, leaning forward like maybe he’s aching for the feel of Yuri’s lips too. Yuri slides his hands along Beka’s jawline and leans down to kiss him.

_ Gods, _ this is so much better than he was even expecting. Here, just the two of them under the stars, backlit only by the flames, their kiss feels electric. Yuri’s only kissed a few people before- one drunken mistake with Georgi (which confirmed Georgi’s heterosexuality), one with Mila after a truly unfortunate matchmaking fumble after Georgi’s heterosexual panic, JJ after he learned people actually bet he  _ wouldn’t, _ and one night full of poorly decided kisses with Viktor and Yuuri (it was  _ really _ hot at the time, but he’d rather not talk about it now when Beka’s lips are fitted to his so perfectly).

_ This, _ though.  _ This _ was everything he never thought he’d feel in a first kiss- a schmaltzy, passionate kiss that he  _ wanted _ to surrender to, one that he felt from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. He felt excessively sappy thinking about how  _ right _ it felt to kiss Beka like this, a sweet glide of their lips against one another, pulling soft noises that, in the heat of the moment, Yuri couldn’t figure out whose lips they escaped. Beka’s hands aggressively grip his hips, pulling him closer, and Yuri spills a low moan into Beka’s mouth, the alcohol making him unapologetic and confident as he responds with his hands sliding up into the back of Beka’s hair. He tugs to test the waters, and the groan torn from Beka makes him do it again. Harder.

“Fuck, Yuri,” Beka mewls against his lips, overwhelmed. Beka’s eye color is so naturally dark, it’s almost difficult to make out, but Yuri’s been versed in the subtleties of Otabek Altin long enough that he  _ knows _ that they’re lust-blown. He’s looking at Yuri in awe, like he’s having an epiphanic moment, and maybe he is. Yuri knows he’s bordering on that line.

With a growl, Beka pulls him back in, harder and more charged than the first, and Yuri’s fucking  _ floating. _ Tongues curl around one another and teeth tug at each other’s lip, an impassioned dance that makes Yuri’s head spin. He clings desperately, to Beka’s body and to this moment, unwilling to let go until Beka  _ makes _ him. He doesn’t seem all that ready to let Yuri go because suddenly, there are thick, strong fingers sliding up the back of Yuri’s shirt and he whines as the backs of Beka’s nails drag up his spine. He shivers into the touch, pawing at Beka’s shoulders, unsure of where he’s allowed to touch, unsure of how far Beka’s willing to take this.

Beka tears himself away to rasp, “I want you, Yura,” and Yuri freezes again, gasping into the space between them. Beka pulls back far enough for his countenance to sharpen in clarity, and Yuri gasps at what he sees.

Beka’s lips are red and wet, and he looks fucking  _ wrecked _ already, and his hands are gripping Yuri so close to him he can feel the line of Beka’s swelling cock pressed against his own through their pants. Yuri’s hungry for more, but he  _ has _ to make sure this isn’t just the alcohol talking. Nothing would decimate his heart more than knowing this could be another mistake to add to his repertoire. 

“P-please say this isn’t just because you’re drunk,” he stutters over his words, the desperation and gravity leaking into his voice without his permission, and Beka’s face clears in realization. Yuri’s stomach turns sharply, unsure of whether it’s a good thing or not.

“Yura, I’ve had two drinks, and that was over an hour ago,” Beka reminds him softly, his expression growing serious. “Is this just the liquor for you?”

“No,” Yuri answers roughly, his eyes dancing over Beka’s features to search for any hint of deception, but only finding relief battling with nerves. “I’ve kind of wa-” He cuts himself off, looking down and away. He’s starting to regret that fifth shot. He slides his hands out of Beka’s hair, intent on pulling away when Beka catches his wrists. His head jerks back up, wide-eyed   
  
“What is it? You’ve kind of what?” Beka’s stare bores into him, and Yuri can’t look away. 

He swallows hard, the anxiety thickening his voice. “I’ve...I’ve kind of wanted this,” he takes a deep, calming breath, “for years.”

Yuri’s pretty sure he’s never seen so much shock and hope coloring Beka’s face before. 

“You mean we could have been doing this for  _ years?” _ Beka says incredulously, and Yuri mirrors the expression.

“What the fuck do you mean?! You’re straight!” He says, or more likely yells directly into Beka’s face. Yeah, that fifth shot was  _ definitely _ a mistake. 

“I’ve never said I was straight. I’ve just...never been with another man before,” Beka winces, not quite looking him in the eye. 

Yuri just stares and stares and stares. It’s probably growing more awkward as the seconds tick by, but he’s well and truly floored by this revelation. He'd never even thought to actually  _ ask _ if Beka was straight or not. They’d talked at length about the fact that Yuri’s what he likes to call ‘homoflexible.’ Mostly gay as fuck, but every so often a beautiful woman might catch his eye. He’d just assumed Beka was hetero and never even considered any other options.  _ Fuck, _ he was stupid.

“Can we make use of that tent now?” He asks in a burst of confidence, and it’s  _ so _ fucking worth the spike of abject mortification to see Beka’s dumbstruck lips drop open, hesitating only a moment before grabbing Yuri and pulling him toward the tent. 

“Wait, wait,” Yuri begrudgingly stops. “The fire-”

And Beka  _ throws _ the water from the bucket on it, distinguishing it in a blink. Yuri knows he’s gaping, but he can can honestly say he wasn’t prepared for Beka’s impatience as he tosses the bucket to the side. Yuri pauses for a moment to adjust to the light before he worms his way into Beka’s tent. 

Beka follows a moment later, and Yuri’s heart stutters as the older man’s hands search for him in the dark. He meets Beka where he is, trailing his hands up those arms to the sides of his neck. Beka shudders, a barely noticeable thing that Yuri probably would have missed if he wasn't hyperfocused on him. 

It feels heavier between them in this confined space, like the sexual tension given off by them both has nowhere to escape and instead steadily pressurizes the room. Beka reaches a hand around to cradle the back of Yuri’s neck in his large hand, gently lowering them to the ground as he brings their lips together. Yuri’s breath stutters as he spreads his legs, making room for Beka’s wide frame. 

He groans as Beka lowers himself to Yuri. They’re so close like this- lips to lips, chest to chest, groin to groin, and Yuri helplessly bucks up against Beka as his friend drags his tongue over his sensitive bottom lip. Beka responds with a filthy grind and Yuri’s pretty sure he can see the Kazakh sky’s stars behind his eyes. His clothes suddenly feel too rough against his skin, and he pushes Beka at the shoulders roughly, ignoring the resulting hurt look as he arches his back to wrest his shirt off. 

It takes no time for Beka to get with the program, to wipe the wounded expression from his face as he tears his own shirt over his head. Yuri bites his lip on a groan, reaching up to run his hands over those fucking muscles. He revels in the fact that, at least for tonight, he’s allowed to do this. 

_ “Fuck, _ Beka. Look at you,” he says, hearing the awe in his own voice, and he can only muster up a scrap of embarrassment about it. Have you  _ seen _ Otabek Altin?  _ Christ. _

Beka grins down at him, all dimples and warmth and a thread of smugness, and Yuri rolls his eyes, his mouth quivering in effort not to smile back. He loses that battle quickly as Beka swoops down and kisses his nose, his cheeks, his forehead, his chin, his  _ eyelids. _ He fucking  _ giggles, _ and only a part of him wants to slap his friend. When Beka pulls back, he looks down at Yuri like he hangs the fucking moon, and his heart does a full quad axel at the sight. 

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this,” Beka murmurs in the relative safety of the dark, but he’s still close enough for Yuri to feel the heat given off from his burning face. Yuri touches Beka’s face tenderly because  _ he can, _ drawing him back into a sweet kiss. He trails little, biting kisses along Beka’s sharp jawline, nibbling at his earlobe.

“How long?” He shakily asks.

“Since the first time you saw me play.” Yuri goes motionless. That was four and a half years ago, in a hole-in-the-wall club in Almaty, almost as long as  _ he’s _ been in love with  _ Beka. _ Then again, the man didn’t say anything about  _ love, _ but  _ still. _

“We’re so fucking stupid,” he says as his head thuds back on the ground. The ceiling above him is starting to spin, and  _ fuck that fifth shot. _ He should have known better, being the lightweight that he is. “I, uh...I think we need to stop.”

Beka goes rigid above him, and Yuri runs a soothing hand down his spine as he continues, “I...may have drunk too much.” He cringes at the chuckle above him. Beka rolls off him, settling beside him comfortably.

“It’s fine, Yura. There’s always later.” Beka probably meant that as a statement, but the tail end curled up too much to be anything but a question. 

Yuri’s heart was going to  _ burst, _ he was so happy. He beams at Beka, who dimples shyly in response. 

“Maybe even tomorrow morning,” Yuri says tremulously, and the strong arm around him tightens in response. 

When they fall asleep, Beka’s tight hold never falters and he drifts to sleep with a euphoric smile.

\---

_ ‘God _ damn _ it,’ _ is all Yuri can think when he wakes up with a low-grade headache, a crick in his neck, his right arm asleep, his hair tangled  _ and _ trapped under himself, and can hardly move his back without a weird kink in his muscles screaming at him to  _ stop. _ Like, fucking hell. Can he catch a break?

He really should have slept in a better position, but really, what the hell was he expected to do? Push Beka off of him?  _ Beka. _

He looked down at the man in question, startling when dark chocolate eyes met his in the low, dawn light filtering in through the sheer tent walls. He wonders how long Beka’s been up, watching him like the absolute creep he apparently is, but can’t find it within himself to care. He smiles nervously, hopefully, and Beka’s unreadable expression softens, the corners of his lips tugging to bring out those fucking dimples, and Yuri just melts.

He tentatively dips forward, ignoring the pang in his neck, and Beka meets him halfway. The sigh that Beka releases sounds like relief, and Yuri beams against his mouth. Yuri means to bring his hand to cup Beka’s face, but hisses when another sharp pain shoots through him. He groans as he pulls away. 

“We really need to get up. I slept in a shit position and need to stretch out ASAP.” He says sullenly, cursing his body for being such a terrible traitor. 

“Hmm...I bet I can help with that,” Beka smirks mischievously, and Yuri’s eyes round in a surprised smile.

“Oh yeah? Show me how.” He challenges, tilting his chin up with smug, little smile. 

Beka meets it easily with dark eyes, silently creeping backwards until he hits the far wall of the tent. He leans forward, gently tipping Yuri’s hips to the side until he lies flat on the ground. He hadn’t even noticed he’d turned in toward Beka last night. Yuri’s smile falters, swallowing roughly as Beka massages his legs in turn, maintaining frankly too intense eye contact. Yuri closes his eyes against it with an unsteady exhale as he relaxes into the feeling. One particularly firm dig into his thighs has him moaning and he clenches his eyes shut harder when Beka’s hands pause for a moment before doing it again. 

Yuri’s eyes fly open when Beka’s fingers stray close to his rapidly thickening cock, and he claps his hands over himself quickly in an attempt to save him from feeling too exposed. He’s already too vulnerable- shirtless with hardened nipples as he pants through the wildfire licking under his skin. Beka's exhale sounds reedy somehow and he’s looking at Yuri like he wants to  _ devour _ him. Yuri swallows roughly when Beka gently grabs his wrists, raising his eyebrows in question, and Yuri licks his lips, face aflame as he nods.

His hands are pulled away from his crotch, and his leggings leave  _ nothing _ to the imagination. Beka mutters a soft, breathless  _ ‘fuck’ _ as he ogles Yuri. He glances up at Yuri like he’s looking for something in his expression before running two tremulous fingers over his length. Yuri’s eyes flutter as he gasps, hips tilting upward to follow the motion. The pain in his back is a dull, background sensation as Beka does it again, this time watching Yuri’s face crease in pleasure. 

Beka rubs him more firmly through the fabric until Yuri feels like he might come just like this, in his pants like he’s fucking fifteen again. He clamps a fist around Beka’s wrist. When Beka’s brow dips in startled confusion, he shakes his head.

“I don’t want to- I don’t want to come like this.” Beka’s brows dip further until he hastily explains, “I’d rather come inside you, o-or with you inside me- wait, we don’t have lube,” he whines, blushing. “Fuck, even with your hand touching my actual skin. I don’t fucking care. Hand, mouth, it doesn’t matter- I just want you to  _ touch _ me.” 

Beka groans at that, and plush lips are suddenly pressed against Yuri’s own, one hand braced by his head, the other dipping into the front of his leggings. His hips raise of their own volition, chasing the touch. The kiss ends  _ way _ too soon, but he’s not going to complain because abruptly, he’s fully nude. He shouts in surprise as Beka tosses the leggings behind him with a roguish grin and just  _ looks. _

“Can I,” Beka starts with a nervous swallow, “can I suck you? I know you said you wanted it, but-”   
  
“Fuck, just do it. You know I wouldn’t say I wanted it if I didn’t.” He bitches, and Beka huffs before he dips down, breathing over Yuri’s cock for a moment (Yuri assumes it’s to mentally prepare himself). Yuri watches with half-lidded eyes as Beka tentatively takes the head of his cock in his mouth.

Yuri’s only had his dick sucked once (he still doesn’t want to talk about that night), and it was...okay. He came, and while it felt pretty good, it wasn’t the best orgasm he’s ever had, so he could maybe rate the experience with a six out of ten. 

This is on a whole other level. Maybe it’s because Yuri’s first time was for the express purpose of fulfilling two other people's fantasies. Maybe it’s because it turned Yuri on to no end that he could say that he’s Beka’s first. Maybe it’s the way Beka’s tongue is so timid, giving little kitten licks under the head of his cock. Maybe it’s the way Beka’s nails bite into his hips as he holds Yuri down. Or maybe it’s because he’s head over heels in love with this man. Who knows?

He cards his fingers into Beka’s hair, his breath hitching as Beka hollows his mouth, sucking with all the vigor and clumsiness and excitement of a virgin. Beka groans against his flesh, and his fingers tug tighter. His hips buck against the hold Beka’s got on him, pressing as deeply in as he can manage. He feels fucking  _ desperate _ to come already, and Beka’s teasing, whether intentional or not, is going to drive him up the wall.

_ “Please, _ Beka,” he sobs, unsure of what he’s asking for, really. He just knows he wants  _ more. _

Beka bravely releases Yuri’s hips, choking when his next thrust upward is met with no resistance. 

Beka’s eyes catch Yuri’s as he pops off for a moment to pant out, “I want you to come in my mouth, Yura,  _ please.” _

And Yuri is helpless against the rough desire in Beka’s voice. He cries out, loud and blissful as he pulses into his friend’s waiting mouth. It’s fucking overwhelming, and the shocks running through him radiate outward, a tingling sensation spreading to his extremities as he gasps through it. Dimly, he’s aware of Beka coughing through it, and he has just enough wherewithal to let go of the tight grip he has on Beka’s head, to savor Beka’s surprise, to watch as the last couple spurts land on his friend’s puffy lips. His jaw drops as he watches Beka lick his lips casually, like it wasn’t the hottest thing Yuri had ever seen. If he hadn’t just come, he  _ definitely _ would have at that sight.

“Fuuuuck, Beka.” He slurs intelligently, fondly, pawing at Beka in a sloppy attempt to coax him up into Yuri’s arms. 

Beka smirks as he crawls up to where Yuri wants him, and allows himself to be pulled into a thorough kiss that makes Yuri’s hypersensitive body curl into it. Yuri cups a lazy hand around the still straining cock trapped in Beka’s pants.

“My bones are jelly right now, so I’m not moving. You need to get up here,” Yuri demands, tugging at Beka’s legs, and Beka looks perplexed but complies easily. Those sharp eyebrows shoot up as Yuri rolls his eyes, informing him that he’s going to have Beka straddle his face. 

It takes a bit of awkward maneuvering. Yuri inches his way further down in the limited space of the tent, his legs scrunched up a bit as Beka carefully knee walks up Yuri’s body, mindful of his arms and the hair. Speaking of, Yuri quickly tilts up far enough to move all of his hair out from under him, taking the tie out to let his long locks fan out on the tent floor. 

Beka looks at him reverently when his knees settle wide over Yuri’s broad shoulders. The muscles of Beka’s stomach ripple with the effort to hold himself steady as Yuri undoes the button and fly, fishing Beka’s hard cock out. Beka bites his lip, hesitant as Yuri opens his mouth. He jerks back an inch or so just as Yuri’s tongue flicks out toward him.

At Yuri’s questioning sound, he explains, “I just don’t want you to think you have to. That, and I...don’t want to hurt you.”  _ Always the fucking gentleman. _

“Come on, Beka. You’re not going to hurt me. And I want it, so shut the fuck up.” He rolls his eyes with a fond smile. “Let me do this.”

Beka nervously sighs and acquiesces. Yuri licks a thick stripe from root to tip of Beka’s  _ beautiful _ cock, reveling in the taste of skin and sweat and something purely  _ Beka. _ He catalogues all the little differences between himself and the older man. The way Beka’s cock curves upward (and Yuri can _ not _ wait to feel that inside him). The way Beka’s head doesn’t flare out as much as Yuri’s. The way Beka’s skin is looser as he suckles on it. Beka chokes out a whimper and watches him with his tongue caught between his lips, breathing harshly. His brows furrow in pleasure as Yuri  _ worships _ him.

Hands slide into his hair, and Yuri’s startled eyes darken as he sucks half of Beka’s length into his mouth. Beka’s chin hits his chest, little  _ ‘ah, ah, ah’s _ and his own pleased humming are the only sounds filling the space. Beka’s gaze bores into his, hot and needy as he watches his cock disappear between Yuri’s lips. Yuri suckles on Beka like he’s hungry for it, and soon Beka’s on the edge, ready to fly over the precipice. He tugs more forcefully at Yuri's hair and garbles out something that sounds like a desperate warning, so Yuri doubles down, pulling as much of Beka into his mouth as he physically can from this angle. He sucks  _ hard, _ flicking his tongue under the head, and Beka’s fucking  _ gone. _

Beka’s thighs quiver first followed soon by his abs. When he comes, it’s almost violent. The sound he makes is comparable to a  _ howl, _ and Yuri greedily takes in the way his body chases after the feeling- a filthy grind into Yuri’s mouth, fingers gripping tightly into his hair and brows furrowed so tightly, he almost looks pained. As soon as the come hits his tongue, Yuri swallows as much as he can, his own brows furrowing in disgust at the bittersweet taste and texture. 

Still, this is  _ Beka. _ His temporary discomfort is worth every second of it to see Beka’s eyes flutter open, looking down at him with so much affection, a helpless, vaguely apologetic smile tugging at one corner or his lips as he twitches through the last of his orgasm. 

When he finishes, he swings off Yuri with unsteadily arms and legs, and when he lies beside Yuri, they’re still trying to return to some normal state of breathing. Yuri absently wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, turning to lie on his side, content to observe how calm Beka is, all things considered.

This was his first time with another man, and he’s laying there with a pleased as punch smile, unbothered and unfettered in a way that Yuri admires. 

Yuri reaches out, and Beka settles in his arms again. 

“Боже, я люблю тебя, Beka,” he whispers absently and immediately wants to catch the words and cram them back down his throat. Beka might not be the most proficient Russian speaker he’s ever met, but he’s almost guaranteed to know ‘I love you.’ Beka stiffens, and the sting of panicked tears climbs to the back of Yuri’s eyes. He slams them closed to give himself the illusion of hiding. He feels shifting beside him and resigns himself to the fact that he’s just fucking ruined everything with his big mouth. 

“Мен де сені жақсы көремін.” Beka says softly, and despite himself, Yuri opens his eyes in curiosity. He might make fun of Beka for his shitty Russian, but he knows maybe three sentences in Kazakh, and none of them are whatever  _ that _ was. He knows his eyes must be swimming judging by the way Beka’s beaming smile dims. So, Beka’s not disgusted then. Huh.

“I- Uh, I don’t know what that means,” he regretfully admits. He bites his lip as that captivating smile reappears. Beka huffs fondly. 

“It means ‘I love you too,’ you dork.” 

Yuri hates crying in front of people, especially people he knows, and even more especially the people he loves, but after years of being wholeheartedly convinced that there wasn’t even a chance of being loved back, the relief is too much. He looks at Beka disbelievingly for a moment, the tears collecting in the corners of his eyes and falling of their own volition, and he almost hates himself for it. He swipes them away quickly. He subtly pinches himself just to make absolutely  _ sure _ he’s not having another vivid fever dream.  _ Nope. _ Real.

He swoops up, disregarding the twinge in his back, to crash his lips against Beka’s in a desperate, passionate kiss. They have a lot to talk about, but that can come later. For now, he still has the rest of the day and another night with the man he loves before they have to return to the real world, and he fully intends on cashing in on every second of it.

Yuri doesn’t think he’s ever been so happy.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> Come join me on my new [tumblr](kafrickinboom.tumblr.com) to cry over our favorite boys <3


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